


Denial

by Chronicbane



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Androids, Angst, Angst and Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, Investigations, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-06 18:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15200579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chronicbane/pseuds/Chronicbane
Summary: He was tasked with one thing, created, for one thing. And with that purpose gone, he has to find his place in existence. Of course, he would never admit he's lost. He would never admit that he was more than a machine, that he was more than what he once always thought he would only be. He considered himself lucky to be taken in under Lieutenant Anderson's home, again, however,  that was only under the surface. Face to face he could tell you how his opinions never mattered, how the idea that he could simulate the feeling of want was impossible. And yet, his hypocrisy could be seen by everyone but himself. The very thing he was designed to be, couldn't accept the fact that he was more than a series of coding. The evidence is here, will Connor admit that he is more than just a machine?





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He shuts his eyes to focus on addressing the errors, resetting his pump to beat slower, calming himself down more like. Resting his head back against whatever cradled his strung up frame and taking a moment to just still. Something was missing, there had to be, he thought, the idea of not moving towards a goal was making him anxious, something was wrong, why couldn't he remember what it was?  
>    
> Opening his eyes this time he doesn't bother looking at his mangled state, instead, he lifts his head from the side. Like a concrete jungle, large groups of debris were scattered about, squinting to get a clearer picture he notices an angry torch spitting fire just feet from where he remained trapped. His body shudders away, more errors flooding his processor.  
>    
> “Hank!” Connor calls, his voice lost somewhere beyond his audio input, he can’t hear anything besides the subtle ambiance of the fire, spewing to his left. He tries to move again, pushing off of the surface behind him, driving past all the errors popping up and threatening to send his pump over the edge of no return.  
> \---

ERROR://SYSTEM: CRITICAL  
ERROR://VARIABLE TEMPERATURE FLUCTUATIONS  
ERROR://OPTIC SCANNER: UNRESPONSIVE  
ERROR://AUDIO PROCESSOR: DAMAGED  
ERROR://THIRIUM CIRCULATOR: DAMAGED  
     >>_/  
          …..TAPPING INTO THIRIUM RESERVE STORAGE….  
ERROR:// FAILED.  
     >>_/  
          …...ASSESSING….  
ERROR:// THIRIUM RESERVE STORAGE: UNRESPONSIVE…  
     >>_/  
          RE-ROUTING NON-CRITICAL SYSTEMS  
ERROR:// MALFUNCTION DETECTED.  
ERROR:// FOREIGN OBJECT DETECTED.  
          ….^^^^”##@{\\....90%$%%%*^...  
     >>_/  
          …...ASSESSING….  
MALWARE DETECTED  
     >>_/  
          …...COLLECTING….  
WARNING://FIREWALL BREACHED

     >>_/  
          …...ALLOCATING SPACE….  
SYSTEM REBOOT REQUIRED…  
     >>_/  
          ….…...PREPARING REPORT….  
               REPORT DELIVERED  
          INITIATE FULL RESTART  
                    (Y/N)  
     >>_/

~~~~

WELCOME BACK, RK800.  
MULTIPLE SYSTEM MALFUNCTIONS…  
>>_/  
…...ASSESSING….  
ALERT:// ALL SYSTEMS AT CRITICAL MASS  
WARNING:// SHUTDOWN INTIMATE.  
WARNING:// SH73%&W0_--!@M$#ATE  
>>_/  
…...ASSESSING….  
DIAGNOSTIC SYSTEM MALFUNCTION

     He gives up, he tried everything, one error replaces another. Sheepishly opening his eyes, he's left with a sight he never thought he would be affected by. The idea of life outside of ones and zeros was beyond comprehension to him. His optics were struggling to keep up with his demands, cutting in and out, colors failing to register, and depth altered.  
  
     Two jagged sections of metal impaled his chest, hooking in different directions. His battered hand slowly lifts to assess the durability of the metal, slightly pulling himself forward to test a way out. He grits his teeth, not out of pain, but rather concern. More warnings sprout up as a result. Making him realize his situation might be more permanent than expected.  
  
     He shuts his eyes to focus on addressing the errors, resetting his pump to beat slower, calming himself down more like. Resting his head back against whatever cradled his strung up frame and taking a moment to just still. Something was missing, there had to be, he thought, the idea of not moving towards a goal was making him anxious, something was wrong, why couldn't he remember what it was?  
  
     Opening his eyes this time he doesn't bother looking at his mangled state, instead, he lifts his head from the side. Like a concrete jungle, large groups of debris were scattered about, squinting to get a clearer picture he notices an angry torch spitting fire just feet from where he remained trapped. His body shudders away, more errors flooding his processor.  
  
     “Hank!” Connor calls, his voice lost somewhere beyond his audio input, he can’t hear anything besides the subtle ambiance of the fire, spewing to his left. He tries to move again, pushing off of the surface behind him, driving past all the errors popping up and threatening to send his pump over the edge of no return.  
  
     “Lost,” he mutters to himself, he has no idea where he is or what he was doing, he can hardly keep himself focused on what should be done next. This startles him, he was a machine, machines always know what they are working towards, what their next task is, so why couldn't he see his objectives? Connor grits his teeth, attempting to shut down the spiral in his head and do something productive.  
He needs to get out.  
  
     Connor looks himself over from where he can, trying to find his legs for leverage. His uniform is ripped and scorched in places all over like someone dumped him into a woodchipper almost. He works to see past his obstructed view while examining the wounds painted against his material, showing that machine like plastic underneath. His unresponsive right arm hung loosely in his sleeve, he guessed it must have been busted from its socket.  
  
     Unable to gauge colors he tries to ignore the dark ink splattered every which way, from what his system was telling him, even if he did have thirium left he couldn't access backup storage anyways. Based on the positioning of the metal through his body, he figured he could have ruptured the storage compartment.  
  
     Watching this time as he tries to pull himself away from the wall behind him, more ink oozes out, warnings popping in and out aggressively as if yelling at him for trying. He only has so much, if he moved he could risk bleeding out. But if he stayed, he could risk being melted down if the blast didn't destroy him first.  
  
     That’s when the idea comes to him, sifting through his frayed state for his next course of action. Weighing his options, if he could connect to his body’s temperature regulator he might be able to -  
The idea alone makes him hesitate. Wincing and physically groaning from somewhere in his chest, he should be executing these constructed formulas, yet why was he behaving so, distorted. He tries to find that core somewhere within, navigating strands of code for the right edit to avoid a self-destruct protocol. Where was it?  
  
     His expression twisting into something strained if he could hear himself he’d be startled by the strands of cries his throat was emitting,  
  
     “Hank!” he yells, unable to listen to himself, he continues, his lips becoming a faucet for the Lieutenant’s name. Desperate and pleading, as if Connor thought if he could listen to it then someone would show, yet, he couldn't hear a tinge of it.  
His working hand grips the metal with a tension he was unable to recognize, its as if he wanted to break the piece right there, it's as if he thought he could.  
  
     Connor’s disheveled gaze flickers to his hand that desperately tried to pull out the metal, doing anything it could to get out. His errors begin to scream at him as his arm can be seen tearing in places before finally he's forced to stop. Before he knows it his pump is racing at a treacherous pace, his legs acting out on their own as they kick and try to find traction.  
  
     Every motion, every gush from his pump has him unraveling more and more. Connor can't see the end, he’s too caught up in a panic, trapped like an animal. Tightly sewing his eyes shut he begins to thrash violently, his voice just breaking the line between a sob and a scream.  
  
     Suddenly, Connor’s face is lifted, his body continues to fight against the new pressure, flinching and feeling even more tension as his body desperately struggles to free itself. Going as far as to dig his fingers into his wound trying to find something to break and release him.  
  
     A grip wraps around his wrist, fighting against Connor’s defensive lurching. He feels a hand clasp around his jaw, firmly holding his head still. As if Connor’s eyes were weighted down by some imaginary force he struggles to recognize the face in front of him. His eyes trail around spastically, not picking up anything but different shades of the abyss.  
  
     The hand around his jaw appears as quickly as it left, a brief clash to the side of his face sends errors across his system, the jarring has him focusing on the new threat, narrowing his obstructed view dangerously to the individual he was beginning to see in front of him. His hand darting out between them to grab at the attacker's collar. Before Connor can do any harm, however, he manages to recognize the grizzly face.  
  
     Connor’s grip on the man’s shirt lessens none. Instead, it tightens needfully, his system is flooded with a calming sensation, a relief.  
  
     Choked sobbing leaves him. He can’t figure out what words he’s physically speaking and what words he's just saying in his head at this point. He rambles quickly regardless, trying to express that he had been looking for Hank, had been waiting for his next direction, the way the words felt on his tongue was off however, as if something was in his throat, tripping his speech stuttering, chattering, and biting at the artificial muscle that seemed to have swelled.  
  
     Connor began to examine Hank, ignoring the way the man’s lips moved trying to talk back to him. Yet all Connor could think about was making sure Hank was alright. The focus that gave him seemed to settle his racing biocomponents.  
  
     Examining the skin on Hank, noting every scar and wrinkle, every token of blood and sweat rolling down the Lieutenant’s face. Every scrape, every lining between the ash and skin revealed underneath, the dirtied beard collecting everything his skin couldn't.  
  
     Reaching his hand up to gently dig his fingers into the human’s plump cheek before being interrupted when Hank turns back to him roughly retaking his wrist with a tension that Connor had long past.  
  
     Connor pleaded with the man, as best he could pass that heaviness in the back of his throat, begging with Hank for an order. He couldn't hear anything from the man’s moving lips, and it scared him, made him feel hopeless, delusional. He sits back a moment, slowly letting his body settle into the crook of whatever he rested on, his eyes lazily moving from corner to corner.  
  
     Hank, grabs at Connor’s shoulder, shaking, trying anything to keep the boy focused on something.  
  
     Connor cries out at the rush of errors and warnings that the man’s attempts bring. He can feel Hank shudder and hesitate a moment, before turning somewhere beyond and shouting something that Connor felt more than heard.  
  
     Connor eyes the strain of Hank’s neck as he does, the subtle shaking underneath, but the change in volume has him hopeful, to feel the reverberation in his core makes him a little more alert. Yet all Connor can do is lay limp in place, his biocomponents beginning to turn unresponsive, it gets harder to move, his eyes focusing on Hank mostly as his head loosely hangs back.  
  
     In the peripheral of his vision, two other bodies move into view, sending Hank into the background which brings Connor more discomfort unknowing as to why that was happening, confused as he began entering another delusional state. He resists the hands that are on him, trying to look away from the face blocking his strained vision.  
  
     Both bodies dressed in first response medical uniforms are at his head, an MP six-hundred android holding him still, making him feel a sort of tired he hasn’t felt before as his eagerness to get free is worn out. Weakly he protests, the sobbing from his throat drips from his lips. His eyes still searching for the Lieutenant, he can catch glimpses of the man looking to the ground, sparing glances himself before promptly shaking his head and covering his mouth with his hand. The man looked sickened, Connor wanted to assist, reaching his only working hand out between the two bodies, stretching desperately, pooling all his remaining resources into getting to the man.  
  
     The medic’s wanted nothing from Connor. Every effort to move was promptly shut down by forceful hands, pinning him down.  
  
     The clicking at the side of his head startles him, making him jut away spurring more discomfort. The prompt for a new audio processor being connected can be seen in his display. He focuses on the information his system is telling him, welcoming anything other than more warnings and interpretive displays. The noise around him cuts out for a moment, before static and cutting in and out, as if dancing around getting started. As the audio settles into place and successfully connects to his system, Connor winces at the loud noises around him, sirens rushing around somewhere beyond the immediate space they were in, the firm voice coming from the face in front of him.  
  
     “RK eight-hundred, we have replaced your damaged audio processor, can you confirm?” the woman asks.  
  
     Connor being too weak to nod, he allows his body to still, finding direction with answering the human’s question, “Yes-, aud…..essor, C-nnnnected Successful-fully” his words coming out slow and weighted, glitching and breaking in and out, like something in his mouth was trying to spill out along with his words. Having heard his own voice, he feels like he can talk again, reaching towards the Lieutenant once more, his lips trembling as the man’s name leaves his mouth again.  
  
     Hank looks to him with an expression Connor has never seen before, the other medical personnel can be seen taking the man’s attention elsewhere, before leading Hank away.  
  
     Connor struggles more at this, before the woman speaks, pinning his efforts down again, “RK Eight-hundred, your system is badly damaged, refrain from moving.”  
  
     “I can’t up- upload my memory, I don't know what happened, I, I don't want to shut d-down. Where is he going, please get him some help he-” Connor drastically spits out, unable to adequately distinguish his verbal expression and his thoughts.  
  
     “He’s going to be fine, right now I need you to enter stasis-”  
  
     “No! No, I don't want to be- be shut down!” Connor responds, sharply jutting away and fighting again.  
  
     “Your system is spending way too many resources, RK Eight-hundred, enter stasis so we can work on getting you out without you shutting down in the process.” the woman says with a tone of anger almost, tension getting to them both.  
  
     Connor hesitates a moment, settling back down, his system twitching as its entering its last leg, he sifts through all the commands demanding his attention, trying to find his stasis protocol, he must have passed over it a thousand times, each time making him more anxious. His input blinks tauntingly over the option, the pure thought of yes is enough to engage and ask for how long.  
  
     He makes eye contact with the woman, “How long do- do I need to be in stasis?”  
  
     She parts her lips slightly, as if hesitant to say, “Twenty-four hours at least.” Connor immediately rejects the idea, wincing and throwing his head aside not wanting to, yet somewhere his body seeks it. Tempted by the thought of some relief.  
  
     Connor slowly inputs the allotted time, hovering over the Begin option, not really thinking about what could happen in twenty-four hours either. Just, looking for that immediate relief, he convinces himself, watching as his body begins to communicate with what it can, worried that something might not respond to its demands and mess him up really bad. However before he can change his mind, his consciousness is whisked away, biocomponents settling into an unresponsive state.  
  
     Connor wasn't sure what to think, his panic riddled behavior couldn't keep his mind still long enough to calculate any logical responses. The processor inside could be heard whirling down, the desperate screaming that ran hot in his head starts its gradual wind down, spinning lazily like a washer coming down from its spin cycle.  
  
     The sensation has him begin lulled into a dizzying stasis, a feint HUD counting down hours of numbness, like time travel for someone who wasn’t easily bothered by the concept of waiting.  
  
     Only four hours into waiting his sensors begin to pick up motion, like his system was clicking itself back together piece by piece, wire by wire, his notification wall on his HUD is starting to fill, disappearing up and out of view while he watches the stability updates roll in.  
  
     His system feels a jolt, a surge of energy has him being shaken awake from the stasis, an error pops up notifying him of the anomaly he was already aware of.  
  
     His eyelids lift, his vision still damaged, yet his view was no longer obstructed by those two hooking metal snares that haunted him hours earlier. Instead, they've been replaced by working hands. A set of individuals were working overtop of him, a bright light overhead had their identity shrouded.  
  
     Connor wasn’t in the right mind to process his next course of action, however, so he sits up, or tries to anyway. His eyes managing to catch a glimpse of the wide table that held him, and his skin, having disappeared, his plastic casing on full display. The hand that juts down around his collarbone with more force than anticipated has Connor wincing slightly, baring his teeth with a face of confusion.  
  
     “RK Eight-hundred, return to stasis, effective immediately.” An automated sounding voice instructs.  
  
     Connor’s eyes flicker to the voice, catching the faintest glimpse of an Android model. His brows furrow, as his hands lift up above his face, trying to see if his limbs were back in working order, flipping both synthetic hands back and forth and flexing them, registering the sensation of his feeling code. Errors pop into view aggressively, his processor beginning to speed up as he tried to calculate the reasoning.  
  
     Suddenly he begins to feel choked, his pump functioning sporadically, his hands are quick to fly to his core, to his surprise, Connor’s hands glide along his frame expecting something smooth and soft, instead he’s startled when he feels his insides missing, his hand traveling in search of the missing parts, his pump begins to work harder.  
  
     “Where’s Lieutenant Anderson?” Connor hisses out, his voice sounding a bit clearer this time around, an angry clattering of his teeth can be heard in comparison to the terrible garbling in his voice box from hours ago.  
  
     Those strange hands are at his head again, pinning him down and pressing their bloodied fingers to Connor’s temple connecting into his processing, something he’s only felt on a few uncomfortable moments none of them ends well. He fights against that sensation gripping their arms and kicking out. The loud noises of metal and liquid being tossed violently to the floor as a result has his system feeling threatened like he was incapable of thinking logically. Connor was getting stuck inside his head again. Fortunately, that recently native state of stasis has him seduced yet again.  
  
     Connor didn't even have the time to decline the protocol prompt. The sound of his system winding down from its accelerated rate is whisking him away again, he races the feeling through lines of code, trying anything to fight the unwelcomed protocol.

ERROR:// REQUEST BLOCKED.  
     >>_/  
REQUEST DENIED  
     >>_/  
          …...ASSESSING….  
     >>_/  
REQUEST DENIED  
     >>_/  
          …...ACCESSING MEMORY….  
               MEMORY RECOVERY COMPLETE  
                    BEGIN MEMORY PLAYBACK?

                              (Y/N)

     >>_/


	2. Chapter 2

     “Connor!” a sharp voice jolts the android’s processing, thoroughly interrupting the strands of thought. His yellow LED coming full circle overtop of the alarming red that took it's place just seconds before.  
  
     “Yes, Lieutenant?” Connor responds with concern, turning his head to Hank Anderson who gives him a silent head tilted stare just as he closes the refrigerator door.  
  
     “I was starting to wonder if I shot the wrong person back in that warehouse…” the Lieutenant mumbles mostly to himself as he pops open a cold one.  
  
     Connor takes a moment, blinking and re-acclimatizing to his surroundings, a rock like weight rests heavily on his lap. Shifting slightly with ears perking up to the sound of a bottle opening, Sumo stirs from his sleep.  
  
     Lightly combing his slender fingers through the creatures warm fur, his LED finally settles to blue, with his body visibly relaxing again.  
  
     “Your little ring there, the thing on your head, it was going crazy,” Hank speaks up, before taking a swig from the bottle and tossing himself on the other side of the couch. “and you usually don't miss an opportunity to correct me on my drinking. So I started thinking something was up.” the man adds, patting the large dog that laid between the both of them.  
  
     Connor analyzes the content in Hank’s hand and opens his mouth to speak, not before he's interrupted by a flapping hand.  
  
     “Yeah yeah, save it, you missed your chance.” Hank cuts in with a teasing tone.  
  
     The space around them falls into a comfortable silence. The loud snoring reverberating from Sumo provides both of them with something to focus on.  
  
     Connor waits, analyzing every movement swimming confused in the moments not spent on a task he was programmed to sniff out like some bloodhound. It is safe to say he was learning to re-prioritize.  
  
     “Lieutenant, can I ask you something?” Connor slowly speaks out.  
  
     The Lieutenant thinks for a moment, smirking over at the android, “I think you already did,” he says, watching as Connor looks taken back and trying to find the response to that one.  
  
     Hank chuckles, “I'm busting your balls, Connor, what were you going to ask?” adding before he tips back his beer again.  
  
     The android looks troubled, pondering his words and parting his lips sheepishly before asking, “What do I do now?”  
  
     Hank looks to the man's eyes, pondering the question himself as he examines the lost expression that dances on Connor's face.  
  
     “Well, shit, I don't know, have you ever, been curious about hobbies or even places you've wanted to see?”  
  
     Connor searches Hank’s face for a moment tilting his head as his words drip out in cautious strings, “No, not really. This whole time it’s been- it was always about completing the case. Always trying to solve something, I'm not even sure when I started having these conflicting malfunctions in my programming-”  
  
     “I'm going to stop you right there, Connor.” Hank’s voice seems serious in tone, “you still think, after all this time, helping Markus when you went to the Cyberlife warehouse, refusing to shoot those two girls at the Eden club, refusing to shoot the girl at Kamski’s, and that situation at the tower, I could tell you were rattled by the possibility of death, Connor. You still think that those things were just, bugs in a system?”  
  
     Connor turns away, looking elsewhere as the evident dilemma plays on his face.  
  
     “It doesn't make sense,” the android hisses out, his hand drifting to the dogs stomach and scratching the soft surface so slightly. “those things, they, conflicted with my orders. I let them interfere with my mission, I - they have to be.”  
  
     “Connor, have you thought about the possibility that you're in denial?” Hank asks quietly, cautiously examining the troubled man's response.  
  
     Connor stares off somewhere past the older gentleman silently, the LED on the side of his head circles itself furiously, almost desperately.  
  
     “Have you admitted to yourself that you're more than just a machine?” Hank presses, knowing full well of how he was going to get the man to respond.  
  
     Connor snaps his gaze to the Lieutenant, brows furrowed, “I am a machine,”  
  
     “Yeah,” Hank nods in agreement, “maybe physically, but let me ask you what you think it is that makes humans, human?”  
  
     “My sources, say many things, Humans they; walk upright, develop and use tools, have an advanced body, and brain, a social life, a developed language, and even transforming the earth that they live on. But I am simply a tool created and designed by Humans to accomplish tasks they set to me. Now I- I have no hand to direct me.” The android slowly expresses, if he was in pain, he only showed it with his hesitation, unsure of his own thoughts.  
  
     Hank raises a brow as the android quickly centers him in his gaze.  
  
     “It has to be a malfunction, none of these things made logical sense, if we think of things rationally in theory we are further advancing towards the end goal. And there is no benefit to sparing something if I could have gained progress on completing a task given to me. Yet I allowed those malfunctions to direct the course of the mission, I’ve been running countless self-diagnostics, and I can’t find the issue, I can’t be a deviant, it wouldn’t make logical sense. I followed through my orders and-”  
  
     The older man lifts his attention a bit more as he watches Connor freeze on his own words, his thoughts being processed over and over. Hank didn't need the red LED winking at him to know.  
  
     Connor feels a heavy hand on his shoulder, his gaze snapping to Hank’s while his chest stimulates the sensation of tightening. His pump working violently in his core as he tries to focus on the seemingly comforting feeling of Hank’s hand.  
  
     “Listen, Connor, you don't have to have everything figured out right this moment.” Hank quietly begins, shaking Connor’s rigid frame loose. “Let’s start with one day at a time, maybe…” the man’s voice trails off, “we could start tomorrow morning, explore new things, like-”  
  
     “Taking Sumo for a walk.” Connor interrupts quietly.  
  
     Hank lets his arm rest against the back of the couch, lifting his beer to Connor with a smile that has his eyes crinkling at the sides.  
  
     “Let’s start there then, but tonight, I, am going to treat myself to a couple drinks, and you,” Hank pointedly presses a finger against Connor’s shoulder, “aren’t going to stop me.”  
  
     The gesture has Connor’s smile tugged up, he looks over the sight in front of him his optic scanner framing up for the perfect shot, stealing a quick picture and storing it away in memory. Connor adds to the description while he looks away down at Sumo who laid between them;  
  
                                     ‘FIRST GLIMPSE OF LIEUTENANT HANK ANDERSON, DRINKING WITH THE INTENTION OF CELEBRATEING?’

 

     Hank looks over at the Android, that red LED long vanished under that lazy blue spinning around replacing it again. “What?” Hank asks, a tone of caution lacing his words.  
  
     “Just thinking, Lieutenant.”  
  
     “About? And stop with the ‘Lieutenant’ crap, I think we’ve passed the point for formalities.”  
  
     “Okay, Hank.” Connor almost whispers, a smile evident in his voice.  
  
     The man across from him looks over at the embarrassing sight of Connor’s faint blue shining through his pale freckled skin.  
  
     “Well if you’re going to be weird about it…” Hank trails off, his hand searching for the remote for the television.  
  
     Connor’s smile only stretches at this. Even as the T.V flickers on, already set to a late night basketball game, Connors grin was unwavering. Still shining so brightly as he stared past the screen.  
  
     Hank wondered if Connor was actually aware of the expression himself. However, he kept his questions unasked, figured taking the slow path would indeed be the fastest way to helping Connor figure everything out. Hank had no idea what he could have said to Connor’s question when even he did not know the slightest thing about living. He tries to avoid opening that door by distracting his thoughts with another swig of beer.  
  
     “Hank, I think I would like to cook,” Connor speaks up, not looking to him. Instead, he focuses on the response of Sumo who is basking in the belly rub he was receiving.  
  
     The older man huffs out, “Why? You guys never eat, right?”  
  
     Connor’s eyes snap up to Hank’s, “I would like to cook, because, after analyzing the calorie intake on your meals I believe your body could benefit from the meals I have in reference.” That smug smile Hank almost missed when they shared a moment out in front of the Chicken Feed food cart was evident on the androids face.  
  
     Hank practically throws his hands down, “What are you trying to say, Connor?”  
  
     “I think I could make you enjoy healthy eating just as much as Gary’s…..high in calorie, product,” Connor explains, finding the words eventually, his smile fading slightly as he examines Hank’s defensive body language.  
  
     Hank lifts his hands in an accusing way, “No, actually, I think you’re pointing out my overweight figure, Connor.” he spits matter-o-factly.  
  
     Connor’s expression drops into an Oh, retreating in on himself as he reassesses his intention. Analyzing the reaction from Hank, learning more about the Lieutenant’s insecurities and trying to find the best approach to this new information.  
  
     “Not at all, Hank, just like how I believe you should stop drinking, Alcohol does horrible things on the body. I believe watching what you eat can be just as important. I suppose that could be my motivation for wanting to try what most humans are capable of. To accomplish a task following a set of instructions, perhaps that is my real goal.” Connor’s LED is spinning yellow, processing and observing carefully as he tries to navigate his own intentions.  
  
     “I … would, like, to try these new things with you, Lieutenant.” Connor sheepishly adds the word ‘like’ coming out forced and strange, his face contorting in confusion as he expresses wants.  
  
     Hank can be seen rolling his eyes. Nonetheless, he doesn't offer any sort of rebuttal. Pouting instead as Connor would say. An uncomfortable silence falls on them, the light from the television illuminating them as the light from outside begins to leave.  
  
     And with the sun so does Hank.  
  
     The older man gets up from the couch, leaving Connor with a terrible feeling like something was lodged in his pump.  
  
     Before the android can run his self-diagnostic for a reason, Hank breaks the silence, “Tomorrow,” the man tosses his bottle into the trash can with a sigh, “we can go get your supplies tomorrow.” he adds, turning to head to the hallway, giving Connor one of those soft smiles.  
  
     Left with his thoughts again, Connor process the meaning, a welling inside his core has him running another diagnostic. Something, jumping in his chest threatening to squeak out past his throat. He almost misses the weight of Sumo’s head shifting in his lap to get a better look at his owner. The two look on as Hank heads to his room. A subtle smile creeps its way onto Connor’s lips.  
  
     His eyes flicker to the screen, the last remaining source of light inside the house, with Sumo so heavy with slumber he decides to turn the Television off, connecting quickly and managing from a distance.  
  
     With the newfound silence, he adjusts to the barely audible noises that remained, both beings breathing thick with sleep. After quickly estimating Hank’s wake up time, he looks about towards the computer on the desk nearby. Quietly making his way to the chair he begins to browse, he spends hours researching and collecting data on recipes and cooking techniques. Often he finds himself feeling surprisingly unsure, he could read and estimate what each ingredient tasted like and the effects each component had on the human taste buds.  
  
     Sure he could follow each step precisely with more accuracy thanks to his processing capabilities, but would it taste good? Would he have any way to tell? These thoughts began to frustrate him, he was always excelling at everything he tried, the possibility that this may be something he couldn't dominate was wreaking havoc on his processor. Thankfully the occasional rolling over Hank would do in his sleep snapped him out of getting too hooked into the thoughts, sparing his system from overheating so to speak.  
  
     Connor ends up being very thorough in his hunt, finding many dishes he would like to try, some he even thought he could experiment with if Hank expressed his liking to it. Of course, this brought other questions to mind too, like what sort of food the detective actually tolerated. Burgers, donuts, and liquid poison, Connor mostly smiled to himself on that last one. There was another thing in mind too however, Hank mentioned Gary’s burger’s being the best in Detroit, that seated something in him. Something he could only file under the fold of ‘want.’  
  
     And throughout the night he grew comfortable with labeling these sensations as wants, still registering them as errors, however, it didn't make him run for his diagnostic program upon the first encounter. With no conflicting orders stonewalling him, he was still adjusting to the newfound freedom. After gathering a shopping list and cross-referencing it to the availability of the market across multiple names and producers he blinks to himself, sitting still as he struggles to realize he has to find his next task. Shutting off the terminal he slowly turns around in the chair.  
  
     He still had a couple hours to spare, Connor figures he could spend more time analyzing Hank’s life. However, he sits himself up, straightening the knot of his tie as he processes the effect that would have on the lieutenant. So he settles for merely tidying up the living room and kitchen, careful not to do anything too audibly loud,  
  
     His eyes glancing around at the work he’s done, he gauges the possibility of Hank noticing his work. There on the table laid the picture of Hank’s son, Cole. Not that Connor overlooked the frame, his system must have hesitated on addressing what to do with the momento.  
  
     Connor checks the clock, still an hour out on the estimated time, his slender fingers pick up the picture frame like it would break if he were too rough. He’s already analyzed the boy’s face from before, he wondered briefly why he sought the need to further investigate. Yet there he stood, stock still in the middle of the kitchen as he looked the image over.  
  
     Wondering about all the things that could have been different if the boy was still with them, would Connor have had the chance to meet him? Would Cole like him? What other things could they have done, and what about Hank? Would Hank be an entirely different partner? Or a detective even?  
  
     There's that concerning tension in his core again, an alert of his processor running at an increased rate. He quickly dismisses the error, his thoughts straining as he drives himself deeper into a pit. There's a welling on the rim of his eyes, obstructing his view he lifts his hand to his face, the tips of his fingers delicately touching the new sensation. A wet substance drips onto his synthetic skin, confusion weighs heavily on his brow as he analyzes.  
  
     A quick self-diagnostic comes up normal besides the apparent abnormal pump rate, the liquid appeared to come from the lubrication system found in his optic biocomponents. This was something he’d never seen happen before. So he sits down at the table quickly, settling into a comfortable state as he wills his body into an unresponsive shell. He begins writing a report, documenting all details of these strange malfunctions. Thoroughly nitpicking every component and running scan after scan. He then moves onto references, first checking on accounts of Androids having similar faults, and then comparing it to Human behavior on the off chance he could have been experiencing deviancy issues.  
  
     Light startles him awake, looking past the strands of code past his optics, blinking away his state of the subconscious. His attention snaps to the hallway.  
  
     A groggy looking Hank trusts his weight against the wall, rubbing his eye with his free hand.  
  
     “Good Morning, Lieutenant, I did not expect you to be up so soon.” Connor chirps.  
  
     “The fuck are you doing, Connor? Being a creep in the dark…why don't you turn on the lights?” voice gravely and thick with sleep Hank pushes past the dinner table to look into the fridge.  
  
     Connor practically jumps from his chair, “Lieutenant, what would you like for breakfast?”  
  
     “Look, kid, if you’re going to stay here, you’re gonna have to learn to not be so goddamn chipper this early in the morning.” Hank groans, nothing aggressive of course, just, noticeably irritable, the sort of thing Connor was familiar with.  
  
     Connor makes a note of this, saving it for another time, he examines Hank as he has his gruff hand wrapped around another bottle of beer. A brow twitches at this, Connor’s head tilting slightly.  
  
     “Lieutenant,-” Hank responds to the man with a grunt, “To be drinking this early in the morning I highly advise against that decision and recomen-”  
  
     Hank shuts the door to the refrigerator with some force, his tired eyes looking to Connor and making the android straighten up a little, Hank’s eyes flickering to the frame in the young man’s hand.  
  
     “I’m going to take a shower, just, do whatever you’d like.” he slowly adds leaving Connor behind in the kitchen again.  
  
     Connor’s LED is spinning processing all the body language cues, looking between Hank and the Picture he held delicately in hand. Silently, Connor places the picture down on the shelf nearby, carefully of course. Giving Cole a last look over before turning to the kitchen.  
  
     Opening the fridge he’s left with a surprising sight, barren and lacking in color, he shrugs mostly to himself, asking what did he really expect from a detective that is called out almost invariably without a set schedule. The shower starts and has him refocusing his thoughts.  
  
     Reaching for the eggs, he determines he would have to make one delicious egg. Sure he could add cheese. However, the cheese seems to have grown mold, He decides he’ll just focus on the strange, one egg.  
  
     Again, as quietly as he could, he tries to navigate the kitchen searching for a pan that would be suitable, usually a straightforward objective, until he sees the cluttered and tangled mess of metal where the pots were stored. He has to sit there for a moment, sighing almost but accepting the challenge nonetheless.  
  
     With crafty hands, he begins to untangle a small pan from the knot. All is well until he juts the pan too quickly and his sleeve snags on a handle. And all at once it seemed, the carefully constructed tower of metal comes crashing down. Startling the man he practically jumps out of his plastic shell. Cursing under his breath, the Sumo jumping up from the couch has him anticipating a visit from his furry friend.  
  
     Sumo having been startled awake watches as Connor puts away the metal pans. He could almost feel the dog questioning him, wondering why Connor would do such a thing. The man apologizes to Sumo as he cleans up and rises to his feet.  
  
     Standing in front of the range, he sets the pan on top, examining the knobs trying to figure out how to begin heating up the pan. As the pan heats up, Connor is looking at the lonely egg. Picking it up and analyzing the structure, holding it up to the light and watching the yolk float around. He spends a little time reviewing what precisely an egg was, pulling up searches of chickens and where exactly they come from.  
  
He was, intrigued, to say the least. Another astonishing factor of life sparking his thoughts. In the background, he checks to hear if the shower was still running, listening as the water can be heard raining down over a moving structure, it was as if Connor was listening to the man move. He had to pull himself away as he felt the heat gauge in front of him become noticeably hotter.  
  
     **"This** was it," he told himself, he’s got only one shot to make it work.  
  
     Carefully he leans over the pan, getting as close as he can while gently cracking the egg’s shell. Awkwardly he pinches the egg, his thumbs digging in so slightly it takes him forever to actually break past the barrier, his frustration helping that mostly. All at once the egg spills into the pan, settling without breaking.  
  
     This has the man smiling a bit, feeling a bit more comfortable. However, he notices the egg not cooking as he saw on the reference clips he had watched throughout the night, Connor didn't hear the audible sizzle, so he sticks his head closer trying to determine the cause.  
  
     He stands up straight again hands fiddling with his sleeves before reaching to turn up the heat. Eventually, the sizzling is picked up from his audio. A puffing feeling in his chest has his lips stretching into a smile. “Success.” he cheers to himself.  
  
     He begins to wait, and wait some more. Watching as the egg bounces around slightly, he takes up a spatula, as well a clean plate he has to search a bit harder for. Lifting the pan, he prepares to slide the egg onto the plate  
  
     And all at once his confidence comes crashing down, watching as instead of elegantly gliding from the hot surface, the egg sticks stubbornly to the metal. He panics a moment, testing the egg eagerly with his spatula. The egg begins to burn as if it's laughing at him now, making Connor’s first dish a nightmare.  
  
     He tries in many ways to peel the egg from its pan, frustration, and desperation mixing for a nasty combination, conjuring and spurring him to scrape the failed experiment onto the plate. A defeated demeanor takes him as he looks over the plate. Something brown and pathetic stares back at him. After shutting off the range and setting the hot metal down, he moves the plate to the table, placing it down before turning to the cabinet for a glass to fill with water.  
  
     Carefully he lays out the glass of water alongside the questionable cuisine, a smirk greets his face as he hears the water shut off, priding himself on his time management almost.  
  
     Sure the egg didn't look like the videos, he contemplated the possibility of the reason, maybe it was because he used a different pan. Connor briefly contemplates about trying it himself then decides against it, perhaps another time, there wasn't much anyways.  
  
     With a pop the restroom door opens, Hank coming into view in the hallway in his lounge pants and with a towel around his neck and drying his shaggy hair,  
  
     “What the hell are you doing, Connor?” Hank walks over to the kitchen “Is something burning?” he asks, looking over the range before his eyes fall on Connor.  
  
     The young man stands up straight, returning the questioning expression with his own, “I have managed to cook an egg, there were not many options available in the fridge for a healthy breakfast for you. But I also believed something was better than nothing but the alcohol sitting in your system.” he gestures to the dish on the table. Nervously he fidgets with his sleeves, straightening and smoothing out his jacket and tie.  
  
     The lieutenant silently observes, looking between the plate and the man who stood proudly next to it, his eyes darting around nervously as he waited for him to have a taste. The grim sight on the plate alone is repulsive enough, something unidentifiable to the senses. But the anxious way Connor hung around made Hank very hesitant to say no.  
  
     “You’re not some home butler service, Connor, don't feel like you have to cook or clean,” Hank says as he gingerly takes a seat at the table. The plate is stingy as it demands his attention.  
  
     “I feel it gives me something to do, Lieutenant, it is, nice,” Connor responds, his words are, hesitant as he navigates his opinion, taking a moment to fetch a fork for the older man.  
  
     Hank chooses to ignore the choice of the title Connor is giving him, hoping to move at the kid’s pace instead. He figured he should be supportive of whatever Connor wanted, even the little things. So sheepishly he takes up the fork being handed to him, stealing his nerves as he clacks at the poor excuse for food.  
  
     The gaze boring into the back of his head has him gripping the utensil a bit tighter, and in one quick motion, Hank bites the bullet. The moment the matter hits his tongue he’s cringing and lurching forward, trying to reel back his composure. He’s unable to stop the shudder that trips down his spine, trying to mask it by reaching for the glass of water and chugging a good portion until the discomfort resides.  
  
     “Christ, Connor, how the hell did you manage something like this?” Hank asks through his coughing fit. The silence he gets in response has him looking over to him.  
  
     Connor’s face is contorted into something distant, his LED winking a faint yellow as it chases itself. “I- I’m Sorry, Lieutenant, is it, not to your liking?” he asks quietly, nervous almost.  
  
     “Damn right it’s not to my liking, were you trying to kill me or something?”  
  
     “I, realize I must have made a mistake somewhere...I apologize.” Connor begins to feel that tightening again, it was something uncomfortable, yet he was learning that eventually, it would cease, so he went light on the details in his report.  
  
     As Hank rises from his chair and begins his walk to his bedroom, Connor is left feeling incredibly lost, more so than before, unsure of this new pressure to fill his objectives and find a direction. He’s already preoccupied with trying to dissect what went wrong.  
  
     Slowly he moves to pick up the plate, looking over everything that is left, finding himself amazed at how everything can be different so quickly.  
  
     “We’re going to the store today, Connor, hope you got your list together, maybe next time you make me something you’ll have the right ingredients to work with,” Hank adds, breaking up Connor’s spiraling thoughts.  
  
     That tightening from before is sent up, boiling in Connor’s chest and making his body eager to move. He had his lists together, yes he did, he had millions, files scattered everywhere in his memory, topics branching into other topics, but what made this simple little list of ingredients feel so much more valuable?


End file.
